


Steamy

by red_crate



Series: Steter Bingo 2018 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Awkward Flirting, Bathing/Washing, Hair Washing, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Pre-Slash, Scenting, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 03:45:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16233551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: “I would be within my right to kick you out and keep your clothes,” Peter threatens mildly, conversationally. “But you seem to be worked in a frenzy all by yourself.”





	Steamy

**Author's Note:**

> This has masturbation too, but my phone isn't letting me add the tag. Idk.
> 
>  
> 
> Written for the "bath" square on the Steter Bingo board.

 

Running the beach towel over his hair vigorously, Stiles considers his options. He could flop down on one of the patio chairs scattered around the backyard and find conversation with Scott or Derek or pretty much anyone here. There are a few hotdogs and hamburgers left, so he could make himself another plate and get some extra calories in. When he drops the towel around his neck, Stiles looks up at the Hale house. 

No one is paying any particular attention to him. 

Most of the younger pack members are busy with a new game of Marco Polo that looks to be as aggressive as the last one. He's already got a skint knee from the last round, and he doesn't have the healing factor that the wolves do. Stiles can sit this one out.

Besides, he's been half distracted all afternoon by a certain older pack mate. Now is the perfect chance to cause a little trouble.

Decision made, Stiles wraps the towel around his waist and tucks it tight so it stays in place. He heads for the deck and the door to the kitchen without offering an excuse to anyone, not that he needs permission to enter and wander around. 

As soon as the air conditioning hits him, goosebumps wash over his skin, pebbling his nipples and causing him to shiver. He wipes his feet off on the towel someone was smart enough to lay down by the door before he looks around. The kitchen is empty, but he hears Isaac and Allison in the living room, discussing Isaac’s archery progress and practice. Peter isn't likely to be sitting with them; he's still not fond of the family Allison belongs to. But, Stiles supposes, he can understand that considering Peter has had a few too-close-for-comfort calls with werewolf hunters. The fact that Allison was invited and allowed over— that she actually accepted the offer— is a pretty big deal for a lot of reasons. Isaac being into her is the least of them. 

Stiles decides to go upstairs. If he can't find Peter, then he can at least move stuff around in Peter's bedroom. Maybe he'll roll around in his bed, get it wet with pool water and covered in Stiles's scent. The thought makes him smirk even as his stomach goes tight and warm. He skims his hand along the banister lightly as he climbs the stairs. Maybe Peter left to go get more drinks or run an errand for Talia. 

Peter's bedroom door is shut when he reaches it, but the knob turns easily under his fingers. He can hear water running when he steps inside. 

The Hale house has two master bedrooms. Talia and Andrew, obviously, have one of them. Peter, the second eldest immediate pack member and left hand to the Hale alpha, lives in the other. Stiles has never actually been in here, has only ever caught glimpses of its contents from a cracked door here and there. 

He doesn't find anything out of the expected or ordinary. Shelves cover most of the wall space, and on those shelves are a multitude of books and artifacts. Stiles actually really wants to take the time to read over the titles and pick up each trinket and oddity, find out what they all mean. But he doesn't have that sort of time. 

In fact, Stiles ran out of time the second he stepped foot in the bedroom. Peter's shower is running, which must mean Peter is in there. The werewolf has already heard him, Stiles is positive. He looks at the massive bed against the interior wall. His body coils with energy as he thinks about taking a running leap and jumping onto it.  He'd like to make Peter roar in irritation at him, bitch about the water and smell. 

The shower is still running, however, and Stiles is hit with a whole other plan suddenly. His heart rate picks up. 

He wonders if Peter notices. 

Testing the door to the bathroom, he finds that unlocked as well. Privacy in a house full of werewolves is practically unheard of. He turns the knob and pushes the door open slowly. Once again a difference in temperature washes over Stiles as he enters the warm, humid room. 

He peers through the steam and finds Peter's bathroom is equipped with a soaking tub and a large glass shower. Peter is working soap or conditioner— something— through his hair, looking right back at Stiles. 

“Are you lost, little lamb?” Peter asks, voice amused. 

Stiles rolls his eyes and walks closer. He stops by the sink, turning away from the shower. “No,” he answers, using his finger to write in the fog of the mirror. When he's finished, he turns back around and tugs the towel free from around his waist. He takes a sharp breath before he pushes his swim trunks down. 

Peter is, amazingly enough, silent as Stiles opens the glass door and steps inside. Stiles turns his face up towards the large shower head and uses the excuse to cover his face with his hands as the fresh water runs down. 

Belatedly, Peter asks, “What are you doing?” He moved back some to allow space for Stiles. His tone is confused and edged with something that Stiles can't place. 

Looking over his shoulder, he says, “Rinsing off.” He says it like he thinks Peter is a moron for asking, snorting to cover his own bit of incredulity at his actions.  _ What is he doing? _ But Stiles is good at sticking to his guns, no matter how insane he is for it. 

He grabs what he thinks is shampoo— the label is written in French or Italian, so he can't be certain— and pours a big dollop into his palm. As he rubs his hands together to work up a lather, he finally looks at Peter. “That a problem?” 

Peter stares him down for one long moment, then his gaze slowly travels down the length of Stiles's body, lingering around his midsection. It takes everything in Stiles not to lower his hands and cover himself as Peter looks him over. He fights back the blush that creeps up his neck. 

“Not at all,” Peter practically purrs. He meets Stiles's eyes once again, smirking. “Mi casa, su casa, of course. But that isn't shampoo in your hands.” 

Stiles has raised his lathered up hands, about to start washing his hair, when Peter's words sink in. “What?” He hesitates. 

“It's body soap.” Peter is clearly amused, holding back a chuckle. He reaches for the line of products on the built in shelf and picks up a different one. Up-ending it so gel pools in his hand, he says, “This is the shampoo.”

Stiles's stomach swoops as he stands there transfixed. The half formed plan he'd come up with— to mess with Peter— has been swept out from under him. The water washes away the lather he'd worked up, and Peter closes the distance between them. 

“Turn around.” Peter makes a twirling motion with one finger before he rubs his hands together. “Let me do the honor?”

“Uh,” Stiles can't seem to form a real thought right now. He's stuck in a loop, thinking about having this particular wolf at his exposed back. “You aren't going to kick me out?” He blurts the question, because it's the first thing that pops into his brain. This has got to be some kind of trick. Despite his wariness, Stiles does as asked. It's warm in the shower, built up steam and heat from when Peter had started. Stiles could swear he feels the radiating warmth from Peter's body though. They aren't touching, but he doesn't know if that is a blessing or a curse. 

When Peter does finally touch him, it's with his hands, and he smooths them over Stiles's head confidently. He slicks back the shaggy length before massaging shampoo against Stiles's scalp. It feels amazing. 

“I would be within my right to kick you out and keep your clothes,” Peter threatens mildly, conversationally. “But you seem to be worked in a frenzy all by yourself.” 

At Peter's words, Stiles unconsciously clutches at his chest. His heart is galloping in his chest, and he can only imagine how he smells. Stiles is half hard. He pushes away the shame that tries to raise its ugly head, instead focusing on the reminder that he's merely reacting naturally to a physical stimulus. That's all this is. 

He bites back a quiet moan when Peter uses pressure against the muscles at the bottom of his head. Apparently he carries some stress in his neck. 

“So you’re totally cool with me being in your personal bathroom, in the shower with you?” Stiles tips his head so he can look over his shoulder. This hair washing seems to be taking longer than he remembers any of his barbers visits including. 

Peter hums, carding his fingers back up Stiles's scalp before smoothing the hair down once more. Stiles complies to the silent instruction to tilt his head back so Peter can rinse the shampoo out. “‘Totally cool,’” Peter mocks softly with a dismissive noise. He says, “I'm not sure you thought through your little plan, darling.” 

The endearment, something Peter seems to use more with him than anyone else, causes the back of his neck to go hot all on its own. He's thankful for the heat of the water that has already caused his skin to go red, hiding his blush. 

Peter continues, “Unless this was an odd attempt at seduction.” His chest brushes against Stiles's back, breath rolling down his neck. “ _ Clumsy _ ,” Peter speaks quietly.

Being criticized should not make Stiles's dick harder, but Peter seems to have that sort of affect on him. He desperately wants to know if Peter is hard or not— he hadn't been able to let himself check before turning around. Stiles shrugs, all bravado. “If you say so.” 

It hasn't been a conscious attempt at seduction, but he can't say with one hundred percent certainty that he is against it. After all, Stiles has a raging hard on and he has to work not to press his body backwards until they're touching from shoulder to knee. Peter has always gotten under his skin, and Stiles can't help but wonder if attraction has something to do with it. The realization is a little earth shattering. 

Peter smiles, Stiles knows, because he can feel it against the side of his neck where Peter had pressed his face. It's a classic, intimate scenting, and Stiles clenches his hands into fists so he doesn't wrap them around his cock. Pete chuckles.

“Darling boy.” He sounds so fond that Stiles bites back a whimper. With a deep breath and the quickest tease of tongue on flesh, Peter takes a half step back. He runs his fingers through Stiles's hair to get all of the shampoo out. “Did you leave your change of clothes downstairs?” 

The sudden shift of Peter's voice, going from alluring to a more usual tone, jolts Stiles slightly out of his haze. He can feel his own heartbeat in his dick, but for a second his need dissipates. 

“Oh.” He bites his bottom lip, internally yelling at himself for the oversight. He'll have to either wrap up in a new towel and walk back downstairs without anything on, or he'll have to put his wet swim trunks back on. 

“It's okay,” Peter cryptically assures him, parting him on the shoulder. Then he's opening the shower door and stepping out. “Finish up.” He glances down significantly, making Stiles groan in irritation and frustration. “I'll be right back.”

Stiles waits until the bathroom door is shut before he gives in and takes his dick in hand. He knows Peter can hear him, is probably smirking as he gets dressed in the next room, but that only makes Stiles pump his fist faster. He braces his other arm against the shower wall and spreads his legs in order to keep from falling down as his orgasm rips through him embarrassingly quickly. It's not very satisfying, but he knows he'll be thinking about showering with Peter tonight when he gets himself off again. 

This is something he's going to fixate on—he just knows it—and Stiles gives himself a break for it. He almost feels relieved to have a name for how he feels about Peter, a reason to explain his obsession with bantering and antagonizing the older man. 

He gets out of the shower and finds a clean, dry towel waiting for him. It's fluffy, and Stiles luxuriates in the feel of it against his skin. Once he's dry, he dithers about what to do next. Peter told him to wait, but he doesn't know if Peter had meant in the bathroom or the bedroom. Curiosity wins out, however, and Stiles leaves the bathroom. 

Peter is gone. Stiles feels a little bereft about it for a moment, but then he distracts himself by rummaging through Peter's closet. So many of his shirts are these deep V-necks that Stiles usually makes fun of Peter for wearing. He runs his fingers over one of the softer shirts before slipping it off the hanger. 

The door opens, and Peter pauses as he comes inside. “I brought your things, but...” He lifts an eyebrow. 

It's not blanket permission, but it isn't a rebuff either. Stiles pulls the shirt on, thankful this one has buttons at least— even if Peter generally leaves those all undone when he wears it. Stiles holds out a hand for the bag of clothes Peter brought him. “Thanks.” 

Peter looks him up and down, seemingly pleased with what he finds. When he closes the distance between them, Peter says, “I like that color on you.” 

Stiles looks down at the dark blue of the fabric, thinking about how pale it makes him look. Peter hooks a finger under his chin and says, “Your blush is positively delightful.” He runs his thumb over the apple of Stiles's cheek slowly.

“Uh,” Stiles swallows harshly. “Thanks. I should probably finish getting dressed.” 

Peter hums, letting go of Stiles's reluctantly. “My sister has requested my help.” He rolls his eyes and sighs. “I'll see you downstairs.” 

Stiles nods, feeling the places Peter's fingers had touched so vividly even after Peter has left the room. He presses his own hand over his cheek for a moment before he quickly unbuttoned half the buttons of his shirt. Getting into his underwear and jeans takes almost no time, and Stiles tries to calm himself as he does up his fly. 

_ He likes Peter _ .

Stiles covers his face with the towel, inhaling the smell of detergent and dampness. He wishes he could pick up the lingering scent of  _ Peter _ . Tossing it over the back of a chair, Stiles decides he needs to get out of here before he does something weird, like jerk off again...in Peter's bed. 

He runs into Derek by the stairs landing. Derek is still in his swim trunks and wearing an obnoxious pair of sunglasses on his face. “Whoa,” he comments, lifting the sunglasses up to prop them against the crown of his head. Derek doesn't say anything else, but his face does a complicated dance between several emotions before landing on resignation. “Ugh.” He shakes his head and walks away. 

“Shut  _ up _ !” Stiles calls after Derek, blushing. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna come hang out with me on Tumblr, I'm [here](http://the-redcrate.tumblr.c5om).
> 
> Comment if you enjoyed this, please!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [All That Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19286653) by [red_crate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate)




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